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LADY GERALDINE'S COURTSHIP.
143
I could sit at rich men's tables,—though the courtesies that raised me,
Still suggested clear between us, the pale spectrum of the salt.

And they praised me in her presence;—"Will your book appear this summer?"
Then returning to each other—"Yes, our plans are for the moors;"
Then with whisper dropped behind me—"There he is! the latest comer!
Oh, she only likes his verses! what is over, she endures.

"Quite low born! self-educated! somewhat gifted though by nature,—
And we make a point of asking him,—of being very kind;
You may speak, he does not hear you; and besides, he writes no satire,—
These new charmers keep their serpents with the antique sting resigned."

I grew colder, I grew colder, as I stood up there among them,—
Till as frost intense will burn you, the cold scorning scorched my brow;
When a sudden silver speaking, gravely cadenced, overrung them,
And a sudden silken stirring touched my inner nature through.

I looked upward and beheld her! With a calm and regnant spirit,
Slowly round she swept her eyelids, and said clear before them all—
"Have you such superfluous honour, sir, that, able to confer it,
You will come down, Mr. Bertram, as my guest to Wycombe Hall?"